HD 'Obsession'
by tigersilver
Summary: AU; EWE. Written for the DracoBigBang, this is all about Quidditch pros Harry & Draco quarreling over the photo cover for their upcoming bestseller, 'Obsession'. For a fabulous manip by inspired ideas.


**Title: **_Obsession_  
**Author: **tigersilver  
**Pairing: **Draco/Harry  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Word Count: **6,000**+/-**  
**Warning(s): **AU; EWE; total PWP; creeping crack; Pro-Quidditch Players!Harry & Draco  
**Beta: **lonerofthepack

**Written for DracoBigBang2010. Link to Original Post with Art: .**

**Artist: inspired_ideas**

**Title of Art: Obsession**

**Disclaimer**: This piece of art or fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

"You have_ got_ to be fucking joking me!" Draco exclaimed, peering over Harry's shoulder at the glossy image centered on the backlit editing table. "I look like a bloody vampire!"

"Oh, now," Harry replied, peaceably, "it's not so bad. It's rather, er... hot, actually."

"Hot? How d'you mean, 'hot'? I'm a bloody vampire in the midst of a buggering nervous breakdown there, Harry—look at me! How can you even think that's 'hot'? That's atrocious!"

"Your shirt's open, see?" Harry pointed this out, his forefinger resting on the sculpted flesh revealed by Draco's gaping shirt. Image-Draco turned his head briefly and glared at Harry through his red-rimmed eyes. Harry grinned at him. "I like that part. And you look all wall-eyed and desperately romantic, with your jaw clenched. I like _that_, too. Reminds me of things."

"Yes? _So_!" Draco was not at all appeased by this possible compliment. "I'm a tawdry mess, Potter, that's what. I don't look 'desperately romantic' at all—I look harassed! There's nothing good about it! You know what, Harry? That's _it_! I've had more than sufficient of these—these horrible attempts at decent portraiture!" He flung a hand out at the collection. "I'm going to demand a retake! From a professional, this time."

"But, I _do_ like it, Draco," Harry said, reasonably, turning his head so that he could look up into his lover's furious orbs, which were not, in actuality, at all bloodshot. They were a pure, clear grey; the colour of water and sky, and full of light. Harry assumed a pleading expression, widening his own iconic green eyes in precisely the way that always had his lover giving in to his wishes…eventually. "Really, I do. Lots. You're very fit, here. _Very_ fit."

Draco's gaze (just as intense, really, as the one in the potential cover photo) darted from Harry's artfully quirked brows and just-parted lips to the emotionally charged image of the two of them Rita Skeeter had arranged to have taken; one of the far too many to choose from, intended to decorate the cover of the new, sure-to-be-an-instant bestseller 'reveal-all' book, _Obsession_.

"You don't say?" he drawled, all angry upset vanished in a twinkling, as it appeared that Potter was indeed quite serious in his statement. That particularly disturbing (for Draco's peace of mind) glint of sexual interest in that startling bright stare had not a smidgeon to do with the instant upswing of his mood—or so the Honorable Draco Malfoy would've solemnly sworn, in court, under the influence of Veritaserum.

Not. A. Thing.

"I _do_ say," Harry replied softly. He tipped his chin slightly up and to the left in that way he had; Draco's breath hitched sharply in the chest in question (the one Potter was so fond of). "_I_ say you're the best thing in my life, Draco Malfoy, and one incredibly sexy ex-Death Eater, and that Witches and Wizards all around the globe will be wanking themselves off repeatedly over this photo of you."

Harry—never one to back down—crowded up to him and nudged Draco's shoulder with his own, which brought them even closer. Draco automatically slid a possessive arm around his companion, though he still gazed with some solemn abstraction at the controversial photo. The image-Harry winked saucily at Draco when he twigged to the fact he was being eye-balled. Image-Draco rolled his eyeballs at the both of them.

"...And, in a really weird and awful sort of way, I'll have to watch that; _ew_!" Harry added quietly, but his lover didn't seem to catch that last aside. Fortunately.

"Then tell me, Harry, please," Draco, having come to some sort of inner decision, narrowed his eyes and queried his long-time lover, in his smooth, cultured voice, the very one that poured over Harry's nerve endings like heavy cream nearly every single time he used it, soothing them into sweet pliability. "Do enlighten me, please, as to why you manage to appear cool as the proverbial viney veg in this photo? Singularly unaffected by my terribly 'fit' but sadly unkempt presence hovering at your shoulder? Surely, Harry, one would expect you to be needlessly emoting in return, or perhaps waving your wand about insanely and pointing it at my vitals, oh, Saviour of the Wizarding World. Is that not what you do best? Threaten me?"

"Slag," Harry shot back, eyes narrowed, but he was quietly chuckling. "Which wand are you referring to, Draco?" he added, archly. "In case I need to 'threaten' you again?"

"Prick," Draco replied, clearly not paying attention to the calibre of their standard exchange-of-insults. "Answer the question. Why do _you_ get to be so unemotional and butter-wouldn't-melt in this one? That's so not like you, Potter. It should me, by rights; _I'm _the cool one!"

Harry had meanwhile ended up tucked securely into Draco's arms whilst they conversed, his spine coming to rest comfortably against the other man's torso. Draco's long fingers played absentmindedly across his belly and groin in a very distracting manner, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons and his belt loops. This caused Harry to swallow with difficulty against a suddenly parched throat. He was growing more and more convinced the wily Malfoy was up to his old tricks: fighting dirty, distracting him on purpose; in essence, leading him away from what was important.

"I'm assured, that's all. Very, uh, assured," he stated firmly, absolutely determined to be the winner at their game of wills. The image-Harry nodded in agreement and the two of them shared a secretive glance-and an eye-roll at Malfoy's innate pigheadedness. "Persistent. Goal-oriented. Confident, even," he added, for his own nefarious purposes of distraction.

"Pfft! Wanker!" Draco scoffed, ignoring any frivolous by-play going on between Harry and image-Harry, and pressing a hot palm against real-Harry's dick, hidden currently behind his suiting, which in turn perked up noticeably at the attention. "That's hardly as I remember it, Potter! You were most certainly _not_ confident at that crucial moment of Voldemort-ending, not to my recollection! Pull the other one, Potter-do!"

"Well...no, maybe not entirely 'confident', per se," Harry admitted, and the image-Harry had the grace to look a bit shamefaced. "But I was very determined, wasn't I? And that counts for something," he concluded decisively, "being determined." He pressed a tiny passing kiss into Draco's jacketed upper arm for emphasis, and Draco instinctively tightened his grip, till they were one solid mass of handsome, young, powerful Wizard, done up in the very best of Savile Row. "I am," Harry continued, frowning slightly at Draco's elbow, "for that matter, rather determined now."

"Cease your endless flirting, Potter," Draco murmured in Harry's ear. "It's pointless." There was a definite and undeniable bulge to be felt in his form-fitted black trousers, though, which rather contradicted that assertion. "We must decide whether we'll be allowing this specific abomination to be viewed by your ever-adoring public or whether we shall request new ones to be taken. Pay attention."

"I've no problem with it," Harry smiled. Image-Harry raised a fist in silent victory, whilst image-Draco glared at them all, scowling. "I, er, rather like it, as I've said. Twice now, Draco. It's a bloody hot photo of you."

"_You_ are 'hot', most certainly, though I'd enjoy wiping that sanctimonious expression right off your photo's face, Potter," Draco agreed, leaning forward to examine it again and appearing mildly irked when image-Harry stuck his tongue out at him and flipped him a two-fingered salute. Image-Draco watched that with a cocked eyebrow and a distinct air of amusement, but he'd apparently already either made the decision as to which side his bread was buttered on _or_ decided to stay out of it on general Slytherin principle, as he made no move to either berate or defend little image-Harry.

"Maybe I will, now that I'm thinking of it," real-Draco went on, thoughtfully, his pointy chin digging into Harry's clavicle. That motion naturally led him to open his jaw across the breadth of Harry's left shoulder, which he promptly bit, viciously. Quirking his brows at Harry's instantaneous hip-grind and the groan he barely stifled, Draco withdrew a half-step, allowing a tiny space to grow between them, certain in his knowledge that Harry would retaliate. But Harry's smaller form followed him immediately, sticking close as a mustard plaster and removing any possibility of the 'space' growing. Harry glared at Draco over the abused shoulder and shrugged, visibly miffed.

"Stop it, Draco," he whinged, but Draco majestically ignored him, looking over the other photos taped to the table.

"I'll ask for a re-do for me, then; as that's what's really required," Draco announced with barely a pause, for all the world as if he didn't notice his school rival from Day One was snuggling cozily in his arms, and cocked his head once more to stare contemplatively at the disputed image of himself, mourning silently the ruffled hair, the dark circles and the wan complexion. He looked ghastly, Draco decided; as if he hadn't slept for days on end. The world needed to be spared this version of him; there were plenty of other photos to choose from, including the rather decent one stuck to the uppermost corner of light table, which pictured the two of them seated demurely in armchairs, looking attentive, their hands clasped across the surface of a whatnot table. Some fool had labeled it 'Cute, but boring', the dastard.

Harry harrumphed, and opened his mouth in what turned out to be another abortive protest, as Draco was already speaking. One manicured fingernail tapped at the word 'Obsession'.

"You know, Potter, this one here is utter rubbish, but _you_, amazingly, show up well enough in it. You're even somewhat dapper and presentable in that Muggle getup of yours. You'll do." That was a compliment par excellence, at least coming from Draco Malfoy. He so rarely approved Harry's usual garb, it was an actual physical shock when he did so.

"Will I?" Harry sharply lifted his cleft chin in minor irritation, peeping up at the patrician features of the man wrapped about him like Spellotape on a Christmas parcel. "Glad to hear you've no objections, but…I like this image just as it is, Draco. So, no alterations; no re-dos; no take-backs. I want this one."

Image-Harry did a little 'Huzzah!', silently. Image-Draco folded his lips tightly and returned to staring off at some ghastly vision, still in 'desperately romantic' mode.

Draco's brows climbed into an arrogant slash and his chin, in seasoned response, firmed pugnaciously. "Harry..." he started, warning clear in his tone. "Potter—"

Harry instantly ground his arse back into Draco's bits and rubbed his cheeks against them; quite, quite deliberately. Draco gasped at his boldness but continued doggedly on to object, "Potter, not to be overly vain or anything like, but I look as though I've been pulled through a hedge backwards, honestly, and I will _not_—"

With lightning-fast reflexes, Harry whipped his head around and snogged Draco's protesting mouth, shutting it up nicely. Within seconds, his guerilla-style saliva assault was over. It left the Malfoy scion gaping stupidly.

"—have it..." Having managed to close his jaw after a long, tense moment, Draco finished his sentence, his tone considerably mellowed. "Er. Happen. Like _that_, I mean."

"Think of it this way, Malfoy," Harry purred, not for moment letting go of his newly gained mental advantage, "if we stay for yet another retake, we'll be late for luncheon, and, if we're late for luncheon, then there's no time to, erm, relax and unwind before the interview with _Witch Weekly_, is there? Let it stand as is. You look really fit—I mean it."

Harry shifted his arse about again as he spoke, to very positive effect. He even went so far as to snag Draco's hand in his own and press their twined fingers against his groin, caressing the growing bulge there all the while.

"Alright?"

"Uh," Draco replied, eloquently, after a pause of largish proportion. He blinked several times, rapidly, spine going rigid, and swallowed with visible effort. Both tiny image-Wizards in the centre photo hustled forward so fast they practically fell out of their frame, shoving past the block of print to get a better view of what the 'real thing' looming over them were getting up to. Image-Draco licked his lips at he assessed real-Harry's meaningful twist-and-wriggle. He snuck a speculative sideways glance at image-Harry.

Image-Harry smirked slyly, pleased as punch, apparently.

Real-Harry, taking advantage of his partner's state of glazed-over inattention, insinuated busy fingers into Draco's parted flies, having apparently unfastened them with some sort of sleight-of-hand whilst no one was looking; the digits of the other were removed from Draco's and applied instead to Draco's hip and flank, where they began rubbing continuously up and down, smoothing the fine-gauge wool against the heating skin hidden underneath.

"Draco?"

"Hum? Ah? Right, right!" Draco gulped, startling out of whatever private 'happy place' he'd been for the moment. "Er—right!" He swallowed again and attempted to reclaim his famous furious glare. "Stop that, you little pricktease! I'm not about to stroll out of the _Prophet_ offices with a boner in my trousers! It'll ruin the line of my suiting!"

"Really, now," Harry remarked.

He pressed closer into Draco's loosened clutches, never removing his hand from his lover's now wide-open flies and the thrusting flesh they no longer managed to contain. Draco, Harry knew, never wore pants if he could help it; when he did, they were pure silk, and Harry had no objection to either. Both options had their points in favour.

Draco swayed, his knees beginning to buckle under the assiduous attention. Harry chuckled, pleased with results.

The various many image-Wizards 'Wooted!' uproariously—even some of the Dracos—and cheered Harry on, inaudibly.

"We can Apparate, you know," he suggested calmly to his companion, sliding a furtive wink at his tiny brothers-in-wands. "You _are_ a Wizard—remember, Draco?"

"I'll give you Wizard, Potter," Draco threatened, his jaw doing that 'desperately romantic' clenching motion. He gathered himself together by sheer force of will, inflicting injury in return for insult, via the heinous act of capturing Harry's earlobe with his teeth and nipping it—quite smartly. Snarling, with his upper lip curled just so (a look that truly became him, no matter how he furiously he objected) he spoke through the succulent mouthful, voice muffled by Harry's hair, currently neatly styled but still quite abundant. Harry shivered in helpless response to the primal cry of his partner and sighed, happily, his lids drifting nearly shut in pleasure.

"I'll give you _wand_, too!" Draco threatened, letting go the abused flesh to flash a furious set of white teeth at Harry. "In fact, I'll shag you right here, right on their sodding light-table, Chosen One, if you insist on keeping up this infernal badinage of yours!" Draco stated, clearly meaning business. "You _do_ realize you've absolutely no sense of place or timing, you irritating plebe? No proper grasp of manners or appropriate behaviour," Draco chided, his forehead pressed hard against Harry's as he twisted his body ever closer; so close, in fact, Harry nearly went cross-eyed. "At _all_. Pernicious git."

Image-Draco appeared to approve of real-Draco's actions. He nodded his chin sharply and nearly elbowed image-Harry off the invisible surface he reclined on, so as to watch the proceedings between the giant players all the more closely. Image-Harry good-naturedly slid his dapper arse over, making room for his partner, and he seemed very pleased with events, in general, but no one in particular noticed _that_.

Real-Harry nipped Draco's chin, which brought their mouths well within reasonable snogging distance. "I'm good with that," he allowed, agreeably, blandly accepting the slur on his decorum, or lack thereof. "With both, really. We can christen it; you know, the 'Chosen Cover'? Rita will be so pleased to find it marked up like that. Better than an approval stamp."

"Bugger Rita." Draco had let go of Harry's earlobe and was now sucking vigorously on the freshly exposed skin of his neck, one hand holding Harry's shirt collar and tie out of the way. He exerted more force to make his point, liberally employing teeth, and Harry lost his faintly superior expression altogether, moaning as he was ravaged, his features slackening as a wave of solid lust in the form of the other ace Falmouth Chaser tumbled into him, literally staggering him sideways.

"Draco!"

"Bugger your approval stamps," Draco went on sternly and methodically, "whatever _they_ are. And bugger _you_, you irritating twat! Always getting your own way, aren't you, stupid Chosen One?" he demanded, but he didn't come across as being terribly upset about that; in fact, he appeared rather delighted with the prospect, as if he might wish to encourage it. "Terminally selfish," Draco observed, punctuating the words with a forgiving kiss.

"Arse." And another, full of tongue and the implicit invitation to be naughty. He'd grabbed at Harry's jaw to hold him in place, and bent his entire will to the act, so that Harry's answering hiss of annoyance evaporated into tiny gasps of panting steam.

"Dra-co!"

"Hole," Draco finished, a firm hand gripping the arse in question, with a long and questing middle finger dipping perilously close to the Chosen One's orifice. Satisfied with his endeavours to unbalance his long-time Hogwarts rival and current squeeze, Draco smiled happily down at what was indeed a derailed Potter, wriggling fitfully in his confining arms, rather obviously no longer thinking of potential book cover choices.

"Please!" Harry's hands were already active on Draco's belt, his waistcoat, his buttons, pushing and shoving frantically. He got them out of his way more through inspired fumbling more than anything else. "Yes!" Harry anchored a damp palm around Draco's exposed length and began pulling, using his other arm to pin the taller man so he couldn't suddenly shift away.

Draco was instantly hoist in his own petard, appropriately enough. He groaned under the welcome touch of slim fingers and hastily Episky'd roughened knuckles that betrayed Harry's day job: Quidditch professional _extraordinaire_.

"Aa-uungh...oh, that's _brilliant_," Draco mumbled, and closed his eyes in pure appreciation. "Harry…um."

Evidently, the act of exposing Malfoy to further acts of sedition and seduction allowed a canny Potter to regain his concentration. He smiled at Draco's rumpled shirtfront and paisley waistcoat, and it was a truly dangerous smile indeed.

"I do rather think you should be making me pay or some such, Malfoy, for all these insults to your person," Harry invited, having now thoroughly retrieved more than his fair share of the upper hand. Malfoy's knees were buckling once again, well beyond his conscious control.

"Ah!" he gasped, and rolled his groin eagerly into Potter's hot palm. "Do it, Harry! Harder!"

"I deserve it, don't I?" Harry taunted, never stopping with the prurient massage, till his partner was red-faced and open-mouthed. "For being rude and plebian and ill-bred? Don't you have to get me back for all that? Torment me?"

Harry stepped back, taking Draco with him by main force and his unrelenting grip on Draco's dick, and propped his waist against the convenient edge of the light table. In one smooth swoop, he leaned back over the large white surface behind him, strewn about with various potential covers for their upcoming joint biography, all red-wax penciled with editor's comments, such as 'This one's sooo adorable!' and 'Merlin! Definite Witch pleaser! Ten out of ten!' And, in the farthest most corner, the damned by faint praise photo: "Cute, but just so ditchwater dull.'

"You know you do so love getting back at me, Malfoy," he went on mercilessly, palming Draco's tightening scrotum. "You know-punishing me for being such a prat and an all 'round gormless Gryffindor?" Harry murmured, his low tone all about challenge-and cock teasing. Malfoy, Harry reflected breathlessly, had managed to teach him a few things over the years; tricks he could put to good use on occasion. "I do think I deserve it; at least this time, don't you? I believe you may very well have to teach me that lesson you keep promising-in manners, Malfoy."

Malfoy groaned, swaying, and glared at Harry through half-slitted eyes, his grasp of current events slowly returning.

"Do tell, Draco," Harry chivvied him. "I'm more than ready."

"Fucking _tease_, Potter!"

Draco growled, not admitting anything to anyone, but his actions spoke for him, loudly enough. He pressed forward, forcing Harry the rest of the short distance down, so that his opponent came to rest, his blue-black hair a dark silky cloud feathering across the brilliantly back-lit white glossy surface, his eyes all aglitter with possibilities in the bright light that filled the editing room.

With a shared gasp of horror, image-Harry and image-Draco had hurriedly bolted for the edges of their frame when Harry's spine had first begun its inevitable descent. Now they finally disappeared from the photo's confines altogether, leaving only the caption floating lonely in a curling grey mist:

_The Death Eater_

The Chosen One

Two different men,

Sharing one enduring...

_**Obsession**___

By Rita Skeeter

Had either of the real Wizards present been paying any attention to this cowardly retreat, they'd have caught image-Draco's departing thumbs-up gesture and image-Harry's lingering smirk of satisfaction. As it was, Malfoy and Potter were...obsessed...with an entirely different topic.

Draco segued easily into full out Molest-Potter mode, ripping Harry's trousers and pants down his slim hips with fierce hands and a wandless spell or two, hissed furiously _sotto voce_. Harry willingly eased his bum up and onto the smooth white surface of the table, spreading his thighs readily as they were freed, all the while determinedly drawing Draco's twisting body down on top of him, and locking their lips as soon as Draco had his own hips bared and his own bespoke trousers dragged far enough below his jutting cock to allow for action.

"Fucking do it faster, Potter!" Draco bitched at him, mid-segue, when Harry's leather belt jangled, catching in an inconvenient trouser loop. "I can't get at you!" He waved his hawthorn wand one last time before it clattered carelessly down onto the light table, Vanishing Harry's charcoal-grey woolen suit pants altogether and smearing them both liberally with lube simultaneously. "I _want_ at you!"

"_You_ do it now, Draco!" Harry hissed right back, nearly falling into Parseltongue from sheer frustration and irritably wrenching Draco's vest completely apart, sending pearl-grey buttons pinging around the high stools, scribbled-upon whiteboards and the other various accoutrements of the book-editing process. Wax pencils went flying; rulers were knocked askew; closely inscribed parchments slid off a nearby filing cabinet in a tiny paper tornado. "_Now_, you fucker! It's not as if I've not been asking for this all morning! But no—'We'll be late, Harry,' you said. 'We'll miss our appointments; it's not proper,' _you_ said! Well, enough of your decorum shite, already! I don't care about 'proper'! Move it, arsehole! Get _in _me!"

"Twat! Such a dirty little mouth you have. But—I like it, damn it. Gods, how I like it! Little prick, making me—"

Draco trailed off, snorting his frustration in lieu of further useless words, and finally tore his hands from Harry's shoulders and hips, where they'd been occupied with shoving, and grabbed at the backs of his newly exposed knees instead. He brought them up all in one rapid motion that slammed Harry's head onto the surface of the table nearly hard enough to do them both damage. Harry was consequently tipped completely off-balance, his weight bearing down upon the small of his back; his arse cheeks prised wide open and dotted pink with darkening finger-marks, and Draco thrust his already pulsating pelvis forward with a blisteringly violent vengeance, jabbing blindly in the general direction of Harry's arsehole, and then finding it quite by accident—or perhaps it was only the heady familiarity of a very long and intimate acquaintance. His largely unlubed cock followed through without a pause, gathering copious silvery Wizarding love oils from Harry's rim in passing, where Draco had sloppily spelled it, and dragging a rusty groan out of them both as it slotted forcibly into Harry's flinching gut, sideswiping Harry's prostate on its rapid journey past.

"AH!" they shouted, nearly as one. "Ahhhh!"

"Fuck you, Potter!" Draco added, for good measure. "Fuck you so much!"

"Bastard git! Drives me mad!" Harry yelled, and curved his hands into talons across the straining reaches of Draco's shoulder blades as he shoved himself upright for better balance.

"Uh!" Draco only grunted, intent on 'getting in'.

"Ngh!" Harry muttered after another tooth-rattling moment, wriggling insanely to adjust himself to the burgeoning swell of the rapid invasion. "Ah-umm...um, um, ummmm," he hummed himself into comfort, finding his mental centre as Malfoy began the inevitable slow withdrawal of his cock from Harry's bum. "So, so big, mmmmm….Merlin, Malfoy! So hard—so good!"

"_Fuck_."

All about them on the surface of the glowing plastic-topped table, the remaining images of much smaller Harrys and Dracos, or at least those not in immediate danger of wrinkling, squashing or worse, jostled forward in their black-lined frames, their bodies bumping and butting close together, their hands and mouths moving rapidly on each other's parts. The 'Witch pleaser!' picture's Wizards had already stripped naked and were busily sucking each other off, sprawled in a heap at the floor of their frame, having wisely anticipated this confrontational moment.

"Fuck!" Draco ground out desperately, full of unresolved ire at his lover for the unexpected assault—and too, the unwanted call back to harsh reality by the excessively annoying images of little blond and brunet Wizards ripping off their clothing and furiously preparing to bonk. "_Fuck_! Distracting git! You did this on purpose, Potter! We'll be late for our bloody _WW_ appointment! I despise missing appointments—you _know _that!"

"Who the fuck cares, Malfoy?" Harry was just as irate as Draco thrust forward once more, the walls of Harry's arse dragging and pulling against his knocking knob. "Who gives a flying fuck about _them_! Screw _Witch Weekly_! _Move_, you laggard arse bandit! Shag _me_!"

"Dying to, Potter, believe me," Draco sounded it, too, his breathing stertorous and ragged. "Oh, Merlin!" He moaned and shut his eyes against the frenetic images of many smaller green and grey ones eyeballing them avidly and settled Harry's knees more firmly over his still-jacketed shoulders, taking up a jerky, jagged rhythm to begin with, then increasing in both his speed and those sly, deft brushes against the nub of pleasure inside Harry as he went along.

"Salazar, Harry! What you _do_ to me!"

"Oh! Oh, Draco!" Harry appreciated that thoughtful gesture, or it certainly appeared that way. His lids lowered heavily once or twice before they drifted shut altogether and he pushed his hips forward eagerly to meet Draco's every onward thrust. "Ah, just shut it and shag me already!"

"Salazar, _yes_!" Draco replied, his fingernails biting ever more deeply where they gripped at Harry's hipbones and the ripe swell of his Quidditch-defined arse. "I'll roger you, Potter!" he promised fervently. "Good and well!"

The tabletop they sprawled across was smeared liberally with stray sweat and spare lube—and photos of shagging Wizards. All the many image-Dracos and image-Harrys were in various states of undress around them, their avid, greedy eyes now turned only on each other, and voyeurism was no longer an issue, even if one was only being viewed by one's miniaturized magical projection. Draco paid none of them heed, though; he'd his eyes closed in bliss, hammering his cock methodically and rhythmically into Harry's quivering bum, dragging it forward to meet his fiery-red dick with an practiced, automatic motion that had Harry's mouth gaping repeatedly and a thin stream of drool running down one cheek as he blindly tossed his head.

"Please! Please-please-please, Draco!" Harry pleaded, sliding to-and-fro on the slippery surface as Draco buggered him mercilessly. "Harder! Harder! I want _more_!"

"Give...you...harder!" Draco swore, and took that as a cue to really throw himself into it, so that the sturdy table shook on its metal underpinnings and miscellaneous objects danced 'round the room in magical spill-over. "Give...you...more! Bugger you into fucking bloody _next week_, Potter!"

Draco's wand hit the floor in the mêlée and bounced once or twice before it fell flat, all unnoticed.

"Yes!"

Harry moaned and twisted and shimmied his perspiring torso in excitement, striving to take yet more of that delightfully, sinfully hard prick into his aching, needy arse. "Gods, _yes_...do it, Draco; oh, do it!" he whimpered, and Draco finally opened his eyes, only to fix them stolidly on Harry's slackened jaw and hypnotically dreamy expression. He ripped a hand from Harry's waist and grabbed frantically at his lover's swollen, bobbing cock as a mere afterthought, apparently working solely on autopilot. He pulled on it harshly, his grip shaking in slight palsy but very firm withal, and attempted to match precisely the pulse of his cock in Harry's flushed and fluttering entrance.

"Fu-fu-fuck!" Harry cried out in mindless ecstasy, writhing under the dual pleasures of jerking hand and battering cock. "Oh, gods! Oh, Merlin! _Come_-oh, please come, Draco," he moaned, "Please, please come!" One of his own hands fumbled to cover Draco's slimy one where it jerked and yanked; the other scrabbled for purchase on the slippery table so that he could arch himself as deeply as possible into the narcotic slam-and-drag of Draco's dick. "Come for me, Draco!" he ordered, testosterone-fuelled triumph elbowing aside wimpy pleading when he caught a passing glimpse at Draco's twisted, imploring features. "Fill me up, you wanker—bloody _drown_ me in your cum!"

"Argh!" Draco clenched his own professional Quidditch-toned arsecheeks _and_ his picture-perfect teeth, as well, as he barreled forward and back, baring them grimly in a fearsome rictus of his usual suave smile. He was, by this moment, far more undone that he'd ever been in the disputed photo: tie dragged askew, shirt tails flapping, pale locks pulled every which way by Harry's questing fingertips and designer pants sagging forlornly 'round his silk-socked ankles. "Ugh! Ahn-ahn-AH! Merlin-fucking-damn-it-ALLl! _Harry_!"

Harry whimpered happily and only flopped his head back, happily at Malfoy's mercy. His spine was curved at an impossible angle; he clung like a limpet to the man who speared him relentlessly, over and over.

Draco's movements became but a ever-faster blur of blond and black in the monochrome frame of the editing room ; white flesh flushed, splotched hot and red; stormy eyes wild and rolling, with pupils blown to full extension; his flexing palm greased slick with Harry's precum, overflowing; his pelvis shoving and retreating at top speed as he battered Harry's flinching arse again and again, which in turn sent his keening lover into a penultimate wordless curve of reaction, the whole of his slender body racked at every joint and levitating a full foot or more off the table, deliriously seeking his full due of this so-called 'punishment'. It was as if the young ex-Death Eater had spelled the impetuous Hero under an Imperius to come expressly at his sole bidding, harder ever than he'd ever ejaculated before, in this lifetime.

"Shite! I'm c-coming!" Harry screamed frantically, not a split-second later. "Draco, _I'm coming_!" and did just that, spewing all over Draco's incredibly costly jacket and vest, the underside of his pointy chin, the besmirched light table and the squeaky linoleum floor, the thick liquid spattering softly as it decorated whatever immediate area not already sticky and smeared. A few stray photos got it, too, 'round the square-cut edges, but their inhabitants never noticed, being similarly occupied.

"Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck, _Harry_!" Draco shouted, mouth gaping red, eyes clenched so tightly shut they hurt him. He shuddered once, twice, uncontrollably and went silent, his lips parted, as if he were listening rapt to the music of the spheres.

"Harry," he mouthed, and abruptly lurched forward.

Indeed, all about Draco and Harry, one could almost hear the tinny cries of the many image-Wizards finding their own separate completions. Some had utilized the oversized caption words as a sturdy surface for vertical shagging; others had ignored them or shoved them aside altogether in a messy jumble, and were humping madly on the undefined flat surface small Harry had been seated on before this weird image-orgy began. Various sated 'desperately fit' Dracos wearing mussed black clothing dominated every scene, wide shoulders shielding image-Harrys' half-naked and well-used states from the general view; excepting, of course, in those few photos wherein both participants had disappeared out of sight altogether, taking their prurient activities beyond the bounds of their frames. Tiny blissed-out Harrys flopped, lounged cat-like and sagged like bags of flour, weak legs collapsing under image-Draco's falling weights, blushing bums smeared shiny pink with perspiration and silvery streaks of Wizarding lube, dribbling miniature white streams of image-Draco ejaculate down their quivering thighs. The smell of satiation permeated every corner. It was rank and musky, bitter and utterly overwhelming, rising up to mix in with the elusive scent of real-Draco's exclusive cologne and then wavering almost visibly as a cloud vapor under the concerted beams of the reflective sconce-lights that filled the stark, utilitarian-white purpose room.

"Harry..." Malfoy sighed, when he could make real sounds again. "Oh, Harry..."

"Draco," Harry returned feebly, his reply but a reedy breath of satiation that didn't quite achieve true audibility. "You great randy git."

It was a supremely erotic picture: gilded semi-naked youths, each in the prime of their young lives and undeniably physically beautiful, heedlessly half-garbed in solemn, sober black and grey, their bodies arrayed in a sublime clinch just post-passion; their dampened red-lipped mouths and brilliant eyes-the only colours remaining in a world of knife-edged monotones, other than the already blossoming bruises across Harry's hips and arse- meeting, tasting and partaking of each other; only to meet again and again, muted but never quite parting.

Rita Skeeter would've fainted dead away with utter delight, had Divination driven her to chose that particular moment to check in with her two favoured superstar newsmakers-or, more likely , she'd have wrested a camera from a passing Creevey and captured the erotic moment for all eternity. This X-rated image blew the other quite out of the water, smoking hot as it truly was; sadly, irksome decency laws wouldn't allow it to be printed on the cover of a book sponsored by the doughty _Daily Prophet_, not even an expose of the private lives of Wizarding Britain's two top young celebrities.

"Gah!" Harry grunted eventually, after some minutes had passed, still pinned helplessly against the tabletop by Draco's weight. "'S'good, Draco. But—get off now."

He raised his head an inch or two from where it lolled across the edges of a few abandoned photos and peered cock-eyed down at his lover's lint-blonde one, now dark-streaked with sweat, with little tufts sticking up in various ridiculous places. "Ver'good," he sighed again, thumping his head back down on the table, apparently exhausted but certainly also happily replete and still quite dazed. "Still, _move_."

"...Yeah," Draco agreed after the passage of a very long, slow moment, during which he chased his breath down and successfully caught it. He opened bleary eyes eventually to survey the wreckage but didn't immediately raise himself off Harry's warm and sex-sodden body, choosing instead to stay relaxed and annoyingly boneless atop the limp, lightly panting male form beneath him. "Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" he affirmed confidently, grinning a kneazle-got-the-kippers smile at the opposing white-painted wall for no real reason other than he rather felt like it. "_Always_ good with me, Potter. And you know it."

"Hmm. Very pleased with yourself, aren't you?" Harry muttered blackly, and started shoving viciously at the parts of floppy Malfoy flesh that were nearest. "Now, get off me, will you? I can't breathe," he complained. "You're squashing me, prat. Sodding hippogriff, you are. Must weigh at least a fucking tonne, I swear."

"All muscle," Draco smirked, but acquiesced to being forcibly levered off Harry and summarily thrust over to one side of the wide working surface. Gingerly, he propped himself on an elbow and stared 'round them, assessing the damage they'd wrought. The workroom was an appalling caricature of its previous work-a-day state. Objects had fallen this way and that in random disarray and littered the floor; the tabletop was sticky all over and the room itself stank of cum and perspiration. "Gods! See what a friggin' mess you've gone and made, Potty! Do look—photos everywhere! _Everything _everywhere! Disgraceful!"

"Piss off, berk," Harry replied succinctly, sitting up carefully. "You're more than half to blame for the damage, not doing up your shirt properly in the first place. Told you you were bloody fit. What'd you expect, Malfoy?"

"Hmm," Draco didn't agree to take full responsibility for the chaos created, but he didn't protest it overmuch, either, seeming rather pleased and proud of himself, instead. He eased his length up and off the table nonetheless, fumbling for his pants, which had comfortably found his Italian leather loafers and were making friends there, and his precious wand, which had rolled away in the fracas. He'd his flies and belt settled in a blink, and his shirttails tucked in neatly. His vest and jacket were shrugged back into creaseless perfection momentarily.

Harry attempted to do the same; gingerly and at a much reduced pace. He winced when his much-abused arse finally settled fully onto the light table and hissed his discomfort, like a cat in a downpour.

"Hold still," Draco commanded a much slower-moving Harry, who obliged, freezing in place as a purse-mouthed Draco waved his still-tacky wand, grimacing in well-heeled disgust at the oily feel of it. With a practiced swish-and-whisk the cum, sweat and Wizarding lube were Vanished and Harry's skin was clean and faintly smelling of verbena. Another gesture had the possible cover-photos lined up neatly, framing miniature image-Wizards busily straightening up and doing much the same as real-Draco and real-Harry were.

"That's better," Draco pronounced, having restored a least a semblance of order to their surroundings. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" Harry jerked his chin up, blinking sleepily. "Right, right. Just coming. Hold your thestrals, damn it."

"Good, as we're already late enough as it is," Draco scowled. He went on with adjusting his tie and vest to an impossible degree of perfect alignment, keeping a weather eye on his dawdling companion.

Harry found his own feet eventually; albeit he was still slightly wobbly withal, enough so that he leaned gratefully against the table edge.

"Alright," he said finally, having retrieved his neatly pressed pants from where Draco had sent them earlier, spelled them on and speedily rebuttoned his own shirt and waistcoat. "I'm voting for that one, Draco. It has a rather nice effect, overall. I think it'll be successful." Shrugging his jacket on, he cocked an elbow at the image they'd been examining critically before they'd gotten off-topic, every line in his body wordlessly daring Malfoy to object just one more time. "For a best-seller, I mean. Very risqué, that photo. Imagine the cover it'll make."

Within the risqué photo, image-Harry and image-Draco had finally deigned to venture back to the confines of the frame, both appearing considerably worse for wear. A wild-haired small-Draco was busily setting a terribly untidy small-Harry to rights, whilst the little Harry grinned saucily, dodging his Draco's tidying efforts and waving his toothpick wand to spell the letters of the hovering caption straight, so that the stark word 'Obsession' was lined up properly.

"Hmmm…" Real-Draco, having poked the tip of his pink tongue between his teeth whilst he retied an uncooperative Harry's cravat, finally released the neatly finished silk knot and directed the full intensity of his gaze at the photo that was Rita Skeeter's favouted pick for the front jacket cover of their collaborative work. That same photo was actually the acknowledged favourite of every single person on the publishing team, at least from what he'd heard tell from Bones and Thomas, their editors. His other, smaller self had just fallen back into his original studied pose, staring sideways off into the distance with a tortured expression on his handsome face, and Harry's image-self had returned to watching them skeptically, hands tucked casually in his pockets and shoulders easy against the frame, his expression cool and vaguely challenging...with, perhaps, the very faintest hint of his habitual grin visible only to the knowledgeable eye.

"Well…" Draco tilted his head, cogitating, as Harry spelt his shoelaces tied and smoothed down his flanks, easing out wrinkles in his suiting.

"Perhaps." Draco shrugged cagily, allowing himself a tiny smile in return for his partner's hopeful one, and bent his head enough to peck his own Harry's cheek fondly. "Come along, Chosen One," he scolded, "you and your pet ex-Death Eater will be very belated indeed for that pesky interview, if we don't shift our respective arses right smart. Stop mooning over romantic me and my glorious chest like some hormonal teenybopper."

"So...that one, then? You're really alright with it, Draco?" Harry's brows rose up inquisitively as he turned smartly on his heel within Draco's loose embrace. Draco's hands caught him closer; he was evidently still reluctant to be parted more than an inch or two from his lover's person for longer than second or two at a time. Harry's answering gaze was very soft indeed when he lifted it and the brilliant emerald of earlier shagging had gone a hazy forest shade with affectionate approval.

"That one," Draco agreed, grinning, "since you seem to be so bloody stuck on it; why exactly, I don't know, nor care to." It was a most reluctant acquiescence, or perhaps it was simply that Malfoy felt required to make a tolerable show of his continued disapproval, real or imagined. "But…it does make for an excellent sales pitch; I'll give you that. Should sell millions of copies with not a single sickle spent on additional marketing, which is all to the good, I suppose. The orphans will be very pleased with us, I dare say."

"Wizarding folk everywhere will be more than pleased, Draco," Harry agreed speedily, and nestled even more comfortably into his lover's possessive hold, laying his cheek familiarly against Draco's exquisitely narrow lapel. "How can they not," he wheedled, "with you posing nearly naked on the cover, you Slytherin Sex God, you?"

"Hardly that," came Draco's cool reply, disregarding his state of photo-worthy dishabille handily. "Barmy Potter. You make too much of it, as always."

"Still," Harry murmured, "it'll fly off the racks like hotcakes; mark my words, Malfoy."

Gathering himself to Apparate them both to the waiting appointment with the _Witch Weekly_ rep, Draco paused for one last look at the most compelling photo displayed on the light table, the rightly-termed 'Obsession', and surreptitiously admired for a moment his own air of potently tragic intensity, before his eyes drifted to image-Harry's coolly direct and merrily twinkling stare. Ruefully, he winked at it and image-Harry smirked right back him, miniature much-snogged lips curving faintly, the hint of a teasing grin much more pronounced than previous. And certainly undeniably..._fond_.

"Gittish little bugger, you are," Draco murmured softly at his tiny nemesis, "entirely too fanciable to keep your pretty arse out of hot water," and then, louder, enough to be heard clearly by the real-Harry, caught fast in his grip: "I always was quite the photogenic child, Potter. You should see my baby album." He nodded to his small self before he brought his attention back to his own armful of Potter, and image-Draco grimaced sourly in return, rolling his bloodshot eyes, in full agreement, apparently, over the never-ending gittishness of those fanciable Potters.

"Abominable prat," the full-size Harry shook his head over that nonsensical claim, but still Draco could discern he was at least equally fond as his small counterpart. His smiling eyes had drifted fully shut and he was totally relaxed within Draco's arms, every line of his trim young form speaking of bone-deep trust and deeper affection. That would change to a coolly polite demeanour soon enough, when they met up with the _Witch Weekly_ interviewer at the exclusive restaurant where Skeeter, as Chief Editor, had booked them a table. "Boasting like that. After our horrid luncheon it'll have to be," Harry continued, dreamily, "your precious album, that is, as I'm afraid I've worked up quite a ravenous appetite with all that unexpected exercise." Harry's vocal gut rumbled in agreement and he patted it comfortably before resettling his hand on Malfoy's forearm and clutching it tightly, his body tensing up at last for the anticipated next step. "Am famished now—starving. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"You're always complaining, Potter," Draco quipped. "Needy git. Can't ever keep you quiet."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry shot back, not bothering to rouse himself sufficient to open his eyes and glare. "Well, hurry it up, already, you slowpoke. Side-Along us to Antonio's," he ordered smartly, when Draco did nothing but stand still and smile down at him. "I'd like to get this next part over with as soon as possible. Interviews with _WW_ people are always such a fucking monumental drag, Draco. You know that," he grumped, plastering himself even more closely to Draco's waistcoat. "Shrieking boobies, always squealing at us."

"Very quickly," Draco agreed with gratifying promptness, with an enlightened eye towards the post-interview afternoon lull, and firmed up his grip 'round Harry's waist and shoulders. "Ready, Harry? Alright, there?"

"Always ready," Harry grinned, kissing the underside of the sharply delineated jaw on level with his own nose, "for _you_, Malfoy."

"I should certainly hope so, Pot—"

With a resounding crack, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy disappeared abruptly from Editing Room No. 3 of the _Daily Prophet's_ newly established Bestseller department, leaving behind them a scattering of photographic images of themselves, each one more provocative and compelling than the last. But the best one—the superlative one that caught a viewer's attention and wouldn't give it up for anything—reflected two very smug and handsome young image-Wizards: one blonde, tousled and with his black shirt agape across his faintly scarred chest, the other black-haired, intense and dreamy-eyed, and both snogging each other fiercely, with a barely contained passion that flowed off the image like a heat-wave—as if they'd never, ever cease their ongoing fascination with each other's persons; never once bother with looking at anyone else.

Madly, truly, deeply they snogged, as if somehow..._obsessed_.

FINITE


End file.
